Birdsong
by Willow in the Shadows
Summary: Birdsong once drifted through the forest, a sweet melody twinkling with the breeze. But what happened to her? A one-shot.


The larks chirp a morning alarm.

The robins harmonize in a well-practiced tune.

The chickadee echoes its redundant call throughout the redundantly sunny day.

The warrior makes her way through the lark-awakened forest. She prowls through the ferns, a silent shadow flitting from tree to tree.

A squirrel stares at her blankly, unmoving. She smiles and unsheathes her claws. In less than a moment, they fly through the air and catch the squirrel by its neck. The tiny creature falls limp.

Triumphantly, she pads back to camp with the fat squirrel in her jaws. Wide-eyed gazes and awed stares follow her as she enters the nursery.

"Hi," she greets the queen.

"Welcome," the queen returns. "Is that for me?"

"Yes," the warrior meows respectfully. She drops the prey at her paws, and turns away into the sunlight.

"Thank you," the queen calls to the departing she-cat.

* * *

The moon shines down on a sea of cats as they swarm through the grassy clearing. The crickets perform a moonlight sonata as owls swoop high in the sky, not daring to approach the mass of warriors below them.

Meanwhile, the she-cat steps around the crowd, eager to get away from the babbling cats. _Stupid and weak_ , she thinks. _Giving away all of our secrets._ Without meaning to, she painfully remembers her mistake. She winces and gives a low growl, shaking her head to herself. She can't let down her guard again. But she thinks of her sister, and pulls herself together before anyone notices. She has to remain strong for her sister.

But as soon as she sees the cat perched neatly on the leaders' tree, she feels like vomiting out her thoughts.

She stumbles back a step, and crashes into a gray warrior the color of raindrops. "Watch it," he hisses.

"Don't tell me what to do," she snaps back, and flinches at herself, shaking. _How?_ She asks silently to no one in particular. _How is he on the tree?!_

She blinks and hopes that she is dreaming. She raises a claw to pierce her pad and it leaves a small scarlet blossom on her paw. It stings sharply, but she is blind to the pain. She feels nothing but pure shock. _That lying brat is the new leader of ThunderClan._

Every cat from ShadowClan greets the newly named leader except for her. She looks away, and doesn't dare to do the same as everyone else.

Then he starts to speak. "Thank you, ShadowClan. I will be pleased to form alliances with you in the near future." Her blood runs cold.

"I am the new leader of ThunderClan, and I promise I will help the Clans at the cost of my lives and lead my Clan to glory." _And doom my sister to death and terror under your claws._

She finally looks up, and as soon as she does, his ice-cold gaze sweeps away from the Clans and rests on her. The warrior searches his eyes.

They're pools of sadness. Then it ices over and becomes a frozen lake, but she can still see love under the many layers of ice.

The warrior shakes her head to clear her head. She can't afford to believe his lies. He has already poisoned her.

She turns away and starts to run. Away from the Gathering. Away from everyone. Away from _him_ , most of all.

She doesn't care about the brambles snagging her fur. She doesn't care about the slimy mud clinging to her sides. She doesn't care about the taste of blood in her mouth from biting on her tongue. All she cares about is getting away from him.

Her paws finally skid to a stop, and heaves a sigh of relief, but it catches in her throat. She can't let down her guard. The warrior leaps onto a pine, and drags herself onto a low-hanging branch. She curls up and stares at her terrible mistakes, her crushed dreams, her fallen hopes, her twisted heart. All previous sanity leaves her mind.

She sighs, and tries to fall asleep. She can't. Even from here, she can hear cats mewing, _"May StarClan light your path."_ She lashes her tail in anger. Stupid Clans. They should have learned their lesson by now.

They believe that StarClan will soften their falls; they believe that StarClan can help them back up. They believe that StarClan will guide their destiny so they will have a happily perfect life.

It's unbelievable how StarClan can so easily trick the Clans. But the Clans themselves are weak fools. They are the puppets of lunatic ghosts.

But it's not like she can change the minds of the Clans; it's already set into their "warrior code".

There isn't any point in doing it.

The warrior immediately regrets thinking that. She has to remain strong. For her sister.

But this time, the thought can't save her. She has already delved too far into insanity.

She sits in silence as the sky starts to weep, the darkened tears falling from the coldly bright stars.

* * *

Sunrise. Sunhigh. Sunset. Moonhigh. Sunrise. Sunhigh. Sunset. Moonhigh. Sunrise. One moon passes by in a heartbeat.

The chorus of jays hum a somewhat nonchalant newleaf melody.

A sparrow chick quartet performs its first ever song about their mother's death, full of grieving cries.

Every day is full of smiles, loaded with joyous comments, filled with praise of the wonderful sky and the birds that sing everyday.

That is, until the birdsong vanishes.

Along with the birdsong, the usual chatter ceases. Cats now move quickly- and quietly. No one bothers to repeat their honeyed greetings or repetitive _good morning_ s.

Everything is silent.

Thirteen sunrises later, a new cacophony reaches their ears. It's a sound that's never been heard before in the forest.

The whole forest rumbles like thunder. It shakes and trembles and creaks. Shrill, unnatural notes cut through the misty morning air. The sharp tang of oil drifts on a breeze.

Curious murmurs. Hushed whispers.

"Did you hear that?"

"What was that?"

Some think that the Great Clans have returned; majestic LionClan, cunning TigerClan, and swift LeopardClan. Bellowing LionClan, roaring TigerClan, and snarling LeopardClan. She can easily tell they're wrong.

The next Gathering rolls around (the leader of lies announces that the Clans have been honored for a visit by the Great Clans).

She doesn't believe it. Miracles are never bestowed upon the forest. (Not like the Clans ever deserved any special gifts.) Besides, if it _was_ a miracle, it would come with a deadly price not worth paying.

And she knows that her path isn't going to be bright. Her life is already trapped in the web of lies, intertwined with her twisted fate. It's impossible to unravel her destiny. It's impossible to unravel _anyone's_ destiny.

The gullible warriors fall, once again, into his trap. Now they celebrate, but still, the birdsong doesn't return. No one notices. They're all too caught up in their vain and narcissistic lives.

Until the first body turns up.

The body is smashed to bits, and her sister's face is so ruined that they can't even see her horrified expression.

The shock is infectious. It spreads like wildfire and soon enough, the Clans are left wondering if they are safe from her sister's fate.

* * *

She stalks a pigeon. Gleefully, her claws slide out. With a swift slash and a _crunch_ of the spine, the pigeon's bloody head rolls off its body.

She picks up the pigeon, but doesn't bring it back to camp. Instead, she mercilessly flings it into a small, moss-curtained hollow. It lands with a sickening _thud._

The warrior pads away, leaving a trail of scarlet blood behind her.

The snowy-white she-cat enters the camp full of lively mews and symphonies of conversations. She hears nothing but useless, time-wasting jabbering.

A small, mousy kit approaches her nervously. "Hi," she squeaks, looking up at her with large doe eyes.

"Scram, you wretched kit." She swipes a paw at the kit, and she scrambles out of her way. The terrified kit takes one last look, turns tail, and flees. She smirks in satisfaction. Kits aren't worth her time.

The warrior makes her way to the fresh-kill pile and scans her choices. She settles on a mouse that reminds her of the nosy kit, and skewers it with her claws. Oh, how she would love to do that to that little thing.

She wolfs down the mouse like a starved fox, and when she turns around, she discovers another cat waiting for her. A warrior.

She bares her bloodied teeth. "What do you want?" She hisses.

"Do you mind if I share with you?" The warrior mews quietly.

"I do mind. The answer is no." And she smashes the crimson mess of a mouse onto the dumbstruck warrior's face.

* * *

The conniving king of hearts leaps up onto the Gathering tree once again. He addresses the cowards. "We will need to leave," he declares. "Tomorrow, we will leave our scarred home and find a new one, full of a glorious future."

And, of course, the Clans believe him right away. She does have to admit he's as convincing as a Twolegplace rat.

By the next moonrise, there is no trace that the Clans had even lived there except for the lingering fear-scent and the deserted camps.

* * *

The Thunderpath is busier than ever.

The rich swathes of forest are reduced to a few clumps of trees here and there.

Most of all, the birdsong is dead, like her.

There are signs. Unkempt fur. Scarred, rough pads. Her eyes. Her dead, glassy eyes.

Her dreams torture her with flashes of tears and cries and screams. Her sister's death replays again and again and again every time she lays down to dream. But she knows it isn't a dream. Her sister is long dead.

She wanders through her broken home, the smell of pine-scented smoke wafting through the air. She climbs onto the stump where she used to play as a kit. She passes the body of a singed quail. She mourns her soul at night, and howls her grief to the starlit sky. There's nothing she can do about it, but it's better than following him.

* * *

She used to be a cat. She used to have a spirit. A fiery spirit blazing with sparks matched by no other.

He sucked up her fire, he extinguished her flames. He stole her light, he crushed her hopes. He took away her love, he snatched away her heart. And he caused Fallenpaw's death.

* * *

What else could he take? What other pain could he inflict on her?

She hopes that there nothing else that he can hurt her with. She's already marked with never-healing scars and cuts that bleed everything she has lost.

She will never love again and she will believe in hope no more. She will never come back to life again and joy will never again be felt coursing through her veins.

There just isn't any point in living her life anymore. She lived it once for herself. She lived it once for him. She lived it once for her sister. But now there is nothing to live for.

Her name is Birdsong, and her voice will never be heard singing again.

The birdsong is dead.


End file.
